


not going anywhere

by Poteto



Category: Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Romance, No i won't, Post-Battle, Siblings, Tumblr Prompt, Will I stop writing the same fic but a little to the left?, Wounds, no, vigilantes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26488081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poteto/pseuds/Poteto
Summary: Sometimes, you don't have to be alone.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 7
Kudos: 198





	not going anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Listen... I know I have a bunch of Jay & Tim fics already... and they all are more or less the same. I don't care. Can't stop, won't stop. Fight me.

Red Robin looks around his kitchen and tries to list 5 things he can see. The pictures of his friends held by magnets on the fridge. The pile of dirty mugs in the sink. The unread papers spread on the table. The closed window. The trail of blood leading to the counter where he’s sitting. He makes a mental note to clean that up in the morning. Before that train of thought leads him somewhere else, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 4 things he can touch now. The leather of his cowl that he slowly peels away. The cold surface of the counter. The hard wall behind his back. The needle between his fingers. Another deep breath. 3 things he can hear. The clock ticking against the loud silence. Traffic and distant sirens. His mildly ragged breath. He opens his eyes, hoping he doesn’t have any cracked ribs. Another deep breath. He can smell antiseptic and also something coppery. He licks his lips. The one thing he can taste is the bitter pang from the antibiotics he took. 

Tim Drake glares at the needle. This isn’t the first time he had to stitch himself up. This isn’t the first time he had to take care of his own wounds. 

However, this is the first time he’s the one and only responsible for it. 

In another life, he would do a patch job, emergency stuff only, and then get to Alfred as soon as he could for a double check. In a time that felt like a dream now, he would have the latest health tech available and Cissie hovering over his bed while Cassie fussed about how he irresponsibly hurt himself, Bart made a joke out of everything and Conner, of all people, would be the one getting Tim proper care. Less than a month ago, the most deadly organization of the world was making sure Tim was getting the best care available. While his trembling fingers put the thread in the needle, he thinks of the almost healed scar from a damn splenectomy. He doesn’t know what Ra’s people had done to him, but he’s been recovering unnaturally fast, especially considering his immunity. 

Tim bites his tongue and looks down at his battered outfit. He could go to Leslie’s clinic. But it’d be stupid to go all the way there for a couple of bruises and a wound that would probably take less than five stitches. Tim could go to the cave, but… No. He puts the needle down and starts pulling his shirt out. He can’t completely muffle a pained groan and he hates the way it echoes in his empty kitchen. It’s been less than a week since he left Dick, Alfred and Damian. He’s an emancipated adult by all means. Bruce trained him to be independent. He can do this. 

Except… as soon as he reaches for the antiseptic, he hears a noise coming from the living room. Tim freezes. _You’ve got to be kidding me._ Of all the nights to have a robber breaking into his apartment, _tonight_? Did it have to be tonight? 

Painstakingly, he jumps to the floor and reaches for his staff. He has half a mind to get his cowl, but he thinks Tim Drake defending himself with what could’ve been a broomstick is easier to explain than Red Robin just hanging out at his place. If he’s lucky - and, after tonight, he feels like the universe owes him - he’ll knock out the robber before they see him. 

The most ridiculous thing about all this is that he feels like crying. He doesn’t know why. He barely remembers the last time he cried. Probably right before he realized Bruce could be alive. As much as he’s in pain now, this is no reason to cry like a baby. Especially not in front of a robber. 

Tim silently hides by the side of the fridge and listens. The person in his living room is good. He can barely hear their steps. He can tell there is only one of them, however, and, judging by the way the sound become louder, they’re coming towards the kitchen. Partly to focus on his hearing, partly to ignore the way his eyes are glazing over, he closes his eyes, listens and waits. He waits. He waits a little more.

Ignoring the way his muscles ache in protest, he swirls around and aims for the gut, hoping to knock the air out of the robber. Gloved hands grab his staff and the invader takes a step back before recovering his balance.

“Woah,” he says in a familiar voice, “easy there.”

Tim raises his gaze to face him. Red Hood lets go of the staff in order to remove the helmet, revealing Jason Todd’s frown. Tim feels his shoulders slumping.

“What the fuck, Jason?” Tim hisses. He feels his voice will break if he tries to speak up. 

“I should be the one asking that.” Jason puts his helmet aside. He takes one second glancing around until he finds Tim’s medical supplies. “Is this sanitary? Shouldn’t you be doing first aid in your high tech basement?”

He should. It would’ve been more practical than getting the whole first aid kit and bringing it up here. However, using his medical bay for the first time… It would make it all too real. Too definitive. Tim can’t tell Jason that.

“Medical bay isn’t finished. Kitchen or bathroom were my best options,” he lies.

“Hm,” Jason says as though he doesn’t believe him.

Tim could lie to Batman if he needed to, but, for some reason, Jason seems to always know the truth.

Without another word, Jason takes off his gloves and leather jacket. He drops them aside and walks to the sink. Tim doesn’t ask Jason how he knows where Tim lives - he won’t insult Jason’s detective abilities like that - but he does frown at the older boy as he strides through Tim’s kitchen like he owns the place. 

In fact, Tim doesn’t want to ask anything. He wants to scream at Jason to go away. He wants to lie down on the cold floor and not move for days. It’s comical in a twisted way that Tim had been just thinking longinly about the time in which he wasn’t alone, and, now that he has company, he wants nothing but to go back in time and hide inside the cupboard until Jason goes away. 

“What are you doing?” Tim croaks. 

“Washing my hands,” Jason says simply. He turns to Tim and waves at him to come closer.

It’s a testament to how miserable Tim feels that he does it without questioning. Jason arches an eyebrow at him and points at the counter where Tim had been sitting not long ago. Tim doesn’t move, even as Jason wipes his hands dry with paper towels and reaches for the hand sanitizer in Tim’s medical kit. 

“Jason,” Tim insists. “What are you doing?”

Jason sighs. “One of my guys told me this new vigilante, this Red Robin guy, took an ugly beating near the harbor while he took down one of Sionis’ turfs.”

“It wasn’t an ugly beating,” Tim mumbles.

“Wasn’t it?” Jason asks, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Was it easy to fight fifteen guys at the same time, Superman? Did it feel wise to bring a freaking staff to a knife fight?”

“I won!” Tim says. 

“Yeah, and which victorious mighty hero is bloody and purple all over?” Jason barks. “Sit your ass down, Replacement!”

Tim flinches and… freaking hell, his eyes are stinging again, which is the most absurd thing ever. 

Jason sighs one more time, but this time he sounds… Well, annoyed isn’t quite the right word. He does sound somewhat irritated, but there is something else in his tone. Discomfort? Embarrassment?

“That’s not… Ugh, I’m sorry, alright?”

Except that’s actually worse. 

Moments ago, Tim wanted nothing but to be seen. It was pathetic. He wasn’t even that hurt and tonight hadn’t been special. It was just the first time he went out for patrol since he moved into his new apartment. He didn’t stop Poison Ivy, didn’t get into a scuffle with Harvey Dent. He just put away a bunch of low level henchmen even if he miscalculated how many of them would be there. Such a small feat, but there was a part of him that wanted someone to acknowledge that. To see all the bruises and bloody scabs, to pat him on the back and tell him he was great for how hard he was working.

How childish. 

Now that there is someone and he seems to be fully aware of Tim’s misery - enough to apologize for speaking a little too loud - Tim only feels small and stupid. He should’ve hidden it better, he shouldn’t be in this sorry state at all. 

The last time he saw Jason, they made amends. Just returned to Gotham after his mishaps with the League of Shadows, Tim found him to let him know he was aware that Red Hood was active again. Jason had said - albeit not in so many words - he lamented trying to kill Tim one year ago. Tim had told him it was water under the bridge by now and they agreed to work around each other, even if Jason still didn’t meet Dick eye to eye after last year. Then Tim had promised himself he would become strong like that. Jason had been through hell and back so many times and he always bounced back on his own. Why couldn’t Tim?

Maybe that’s why it felt like rubbing salt to the injury when Tim glares at Jason, the boy he was supposed to replace, the man whose shoes were too big for Tim to fill, and Tim’s vision is blurry with tears and his voice is overflowing with frustration when he asks yet again:

“What are you doing here?”

Jason meets his gaze. His brown eyes show clear unease, but he doesn’t look away. His brow is furrowed as though this is painful to admit, but he finally says:

“I heard you were probably hurt like that,” Jason gestures at Tim’s bare torso. “I knew you weren’t going to the cave for aid, so I brought the aid to you.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because if it were me, I wouldn’t go there either,” he states simply.

Tim bites his lip. “You dealt with your wounds alone after you came back.”

“Yes,” Jason says. He gestures at the counter again. This time, Tim sits. “I know it sucks. You ever tried stitching your own back? It’s really fucking hard.”

Tim looks down and doesn’t say anything. Jason brings a damp cotton ball to Tim’s wounds and stats methodically cleaning them. Tim doesn’t flinch, even when it really stings. Even when he feels like shame and guilt are all going to drown him.

“How did you do it?” Tim finally asks.

“The back stitches? A mirror and one of those grabby claw things, whatever they’re called…”

Tim glares at him. 

“So serious,” Jason complains. Then, in a calm voice, “I did it the same way you were doing before I got here. If I didn’t I’d die. Guess I wanted to keep living. You’d be impressed with the things people do when they have no other option.”

“You’re incredible,” Tim admits quietly. “I’m not like you. I’m not strong or… I gotta do this alone. I don’t know how.”

He doesn’t know why he’s saying out loud all the things he struggled to keep hidden for so fucking long. Jason doesn’t seem surprised with the confession though. He keeps calmly checking Tim’s injuries. 

“Not strong, huh? Which one of us took fifteen guys in a fight and won?”

“You know what I mean, Jason.”

“Yeah.” Jason grabs the needle Tim picked earlier and checks it before starting to work. “I know. Except you don’t gotta do anything, Timbers. And I don’t mean the vigilante thing. Fuck, I know none of us can quit this fucking life. We’re in too deep. I meant you’re not supposed to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. That’s what fucked up the old man. That’s how you lose yourself.”

“What’s that?” Tim scoffs. “You sound like a shrink.”

Jason looks up and smirks. “Maybe I have a shrink.”

Tim frowns. “Who?”

“Guess.”

“Jason.”

He chuckles. “Okay, so… I know it seems crazy, but she found me and asked me to join my crew in exchange for taking off this explosive thing that Amanda Waller put in her. And she’s crazy competent, so…”

“No,” Tim interrupts him. “You did not let Harley Quinn join your crew.”

“Actually, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy,” Jason has a shit eating grin even as he finishes his stitch job. “They’re a package deal. Ivy showed up a couple of days after Harley and I couldn’t get her to leave so…”

“You’re working with Harley Quinn and letting her give you therapy sessions,” Tim says. “Am I on a parallel Earth? Have those guys killed me and I’m hallucinating?”

“A lot changes in a year, Timbers, you’ve been gone for a while,” Jason shrugs. “People change too.”

“Not that much!” Tim protests. 

“Is that so? Then how come you gave me, what now, three, four second chances?” Jason glares at him.

That catches Tim off guard. He takes a moment to realize what he’s talking about. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Tim asks, genuinely confused.

“I came back, I tried to kill you. You let it go. I get arrested, you help me to break out. I thank you by losing it after seeing B’s clusterfuck of a testament. You come back like it was nothing and tell me you hope to do business in the future. And you think I’m insane for giving shelter to an abused lady?”

“I’m not saying you’re insane for helping her. I’m saying I wouldn’t trust her advice,” Tim corrects. “Besides I know what you’ve been through. I understand, even if the others don’t. You’re still a hero. Why wouldn’t I help you get back in the game?”

“Because I could hurt you again, you moron,” Jason frustratedly points out.

“You could also be helpful. I decided it was worth taking the chance,” Tim states.

“Yeah, you did,” Jason whispers, using the bandaging as an excuse to avoid Tim’s gaze. “You’re the best of us, Tim. I’m not letting you crash like I did so many times.”

Tim just stares, his lips parted in shock. 

That’s when he feels the dam breaking and tears finally start to stream freely down his cheeks. He sniffles and makes that horrible choked up sound of someone vainly trying not to cry. Jason keeps tending to his injuries even as Tim’s body shakes with barely contained sobs and Tim doesn’t know if he’s ignoring the meltdown out of mercy or because he simply doesn’t know how to deal with it. It’s probably both. 

By the time Jason finishes wrapping up Tim’s many scrapes and rubbing medicine on countless bruises, Tim has managed to contain his sobs and is gingerly trying to wipe his face and pretending he doesn’t feel like he almost drowned.

“Listen, I know it’s hard, Baby Bird,” Jason mutters, a tad awkwardly. “But I’m not going anywhere. It’s not just you against the world.”

“Then what, is it the two of us against it?” Tim tries to quip.

“Maybe,” Jason says. “You did a lot for me. It’s about time I start deserving it.”

“I didn’t do it because I wanted you to pay me back.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m here, dumbass,” Jason takes a step back. “I’m done. Go get changed into a pair of sweatpants or something. I’m gonna introduce you to the wonders of 2am cereal.”

Tim lets out a chuckle. “I’ve eaten cereal at 2am before, Jason.”

“Not mine, you haven’t. Chop, chop, kid, we don’t have all night.”

Tim listens to him. 

He should know better, after all he had experienced new beginnings before. All of them inevitably lead to crashing and burning, some rather spectacularly too.

However… There are a few firsts here. This is the first time someone truly understands. This is the first time Tim doesn’t feel like he’s entering a challenge, that he has to earn his place as Robin, as Young Justice’s leader. He feels like his place had been earned, like there’s a small beacon of hope after a long struggle. 

Tim lets himself accept it.


End file.
